


lichtenberg

by chameleonchanging



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23480746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleonchanging/pseuds/chameleonchanging
Summary: Wolffe discovers Plo’s newest scar.
Relationships: Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe
Comments: 13
Kudos: 143





	lichtenberg

Wolffe thinks of scars as a record of experiences lived and adversities survived; all the troopers do. They compare when there’s downtime, swapping stories and trying to see who can sound most heroic. He’s particularly pleased with the one he’s got running from his hip to inner knee; that one he earned shielding Plo from missile shrapnel in a lightning storm. The blast knocked him out cold; when he woke up in medbay, he had 46 new stitches and a disgruntled medic waiting to read him the riot act. It’s only recently that he’s been cleared for anything other than a quick shower, and he intends to take advantage of the entire river they’re camped beside for a nice, long dip.

Plo, it seems, has had the same idea. The water streams off his skin as he surfaces, falling to his narrow hips. He moves slowly, almost meditatively; his mask lies on shore and he’s holding his breath. His physiology grants him minutes before he needs to breathe. Like this, he seems as though he is practicing a Form. Wolffe loves that about him, the way he makes sacred the mundane. He sits on the riverbank to admire the view.

Plo catches his eye - well, he always does - and smiles. He has no intention of hurrying up unless something that isn’t the campfire is aflame. This is the closest he gets to being on Dorin on campaign: no mask, no earplugs, just quiet. If Wolffe benefits as well, even better, and benefit he does. He takes the time to examine every inch of skin he can see. There are old scars knit together poorly from decades ago that suggest an encounter with someone who was lax about sharpening their weapon. There are burns from blaster shrapnel and cooking accidents, and in one memorable incident Plo has mentioned, both at the same time. He doesn’t have the usual mementos of childhood carelessness that even the troopers have. Wolffe thinks that may have to do with how Jedi younglings are sheltered in the Temple, though he can’t discount Kel Dor skin. 

But there’s a spidery collection of lines running up Plo’s arm to his neck and shoulder that are new since the last time Wolffe had the opportunity to observe. It crawls down his back to the opposite hip, lighter than the skin around it, almost an orange-gold where the light catches it. As Plo comes back to the riverbank, Wolffe traces the markings down his leg as well. He waits for Plo to put his gear on before speaking.

“Haven’t seen this one before,” he says, brow furrowed, running his hand along the pattern. Plo squirms a little and hums. He pulls on his pants but leaves his tunic on the ground. 

“It was the same engagement that you got this one,” says Plo, brushing a claw against Wolffe’s hip, frowning like he always does when he sees Wolffe’s scars. He takes them as a personal failing. More than once, he’s woken in the night to trace each old wound earned, and Wolffe catches the edges of his thoughts repeated: _forgive me, forgive me, if I could keep you from all harm_ \- and Wolffe turns over to drag him down and smother those recriminations under his own weight. 

But Plo’s mood vanishes as he twists, showing off his back and the jagged, feathering lines, quite pleased with himself. “A burst of lightning. Those droids are a hazard in more ways than one. You were unconscious, and I wasn’t going to leave you. So - I redirected it.” He grins. “Caught a bolt in one hand and grounded it. I’ve never handled so much energy at a time; I doubt I ever will again. But - I’m glad to know I could, then. What do you think? Do you like it?”

His expression reminds Wolffe of nothing so much as a shiny after his first battle. In any other circumstance, he would find it endearing, but it’s hard to focus on that part when another equally loud part is screaming that Plo caught lightning for him and the proof of it is marked into him. He doesn’t know whether to be awed or terrified that he has his very own force of nature willing to fight a hurricane blind. That he could fight a hurricane, and win. 

He presses his lips to Plo’s neck, over one of the largest branches of the pattern. The water tastes like rock and salt, and with his eyes closed he can almost imagine the ozone coming off the pattern in Plo’s skin. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “But don’t do it again.”


End file.
